


Enjoying the Show

by Glare



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: John Reese can't keep his clothes on, M/M, Prompt Fill, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, Harold honestly doesn’t notice.</p><p>Tumblr prompt fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoying the Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illuminatedcities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminatedcities/gifts).



> I'm trying to work myself through some writer's block. This was a short prompt fill on tumblr for someone who wanted John obnoxiously flirting and finding a billion reason to take his shirt off in front of Finch.

The first time it happens, Harold honestly doesn’t notice. It’s early in their partnership—early enough that they’re still walking on something close to eggshells; pushing at each other’s buttons and waiting for a fallout neither knows will never happen. It started raining on the way back from rescuing their latest number and John, soaking wet and dripping on the Library’s hardwood floor, strips out of his shirt to exchange it for the dry one he keeps in a go-bag among the stacks. He’s expecting some kind of reaction, perhaps a reprimand for walking around their workplace in less than proper attire, but Finch has his gaze fixed firmly on his computer screens, muttering to himself about code and paying John not the slightest bit of attention. John slinks away into the stacks to retrieve the bag and pointedly ignores the sharp stings of something that feels suspiciously like disappointment.

Afterward, it becomes something of a game to try and draw a reaction from Finch. For someone as buttoned up as his employer, Finch is shockingly unaffected by the increasingly frequent displays of skin. John keeps a pile of spare shirts on a shelf and finds near every excuse to change into them, from spilling his morning coffee on himself in an uncharacteristic bout of “clumsiness” to citing a dislike of sweaty clothes post-chase. Still, Finch makes no comment. His hands are still and there’s no color to his cheeks when he tends to a knife wound on John’s chest that they both know he could have avoided, pushing the tattered remains of his shirt aside, fingers skimming against John’s skin with a professional distance that is maddening. He’s silent about the workout routine John develops on their off days, push-ups and sit-ups on the floor at Harold’s side, suggesting only that John purchase some sort of padding for the ground as the hard floors can’t be good for him before going back to work. Not even the yoga routine he tries for a few weeks works.

Eventually, it stops being a game. Eventually, John realizes that he _wants_ Finch to notice. He wants to see Finch riled up over him, wants to hear what he sounds like out of breath. So one rainy afternoon, when there’s no number to save and nowhere to go, John finds himself crowding the smaller man up against a bookshelf. And Harold looks so calm, so unimpressed that John can really see no other option but to duck down and cover Finch’s lips with his own, because surely that would do it.

And it does. One of Finch’s hands curls into the hair at the nape of his neck, the other fisted in the fabric of his shirt, turning the chaste kiss John had initiated into something hard and filthy.

“About time,” Finch murmurs when they finally break apart. John is delighted to hear the little pants as he catches his breath. “You’ve been flaunting yourself for months now.”

“I-I did think you’d noticed,” John chokes out when Finch palms him through his trousers.

“Of course I did, Mr. Reese,” an unapologetic smirk, “I was simply enjoying the show.”


End file.
